


Isolation

by YourLovelyAlpha



Series: ISOLATION [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Borderline Personality Disorder, Depressed Stiles, Derek Helps Stiles, Explicit Rape, F/M, Gender Issues, Heat/Menstrual Cycles, Heavy Angst, Intersex Stiles, M/M, No Sex, POV Multiple, PTSD Stiles, Sexual Abuse, Stiles gets better, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, body acceptance, but not the type of rape you're assuming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 05:42:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4008007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourLovelyAlpha/pseuds/YourLovelyAlpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Silver like the moon, Stiles,”</i> the Nogitsune had sung in his voice that night,<i> “I’m going to show the world how unworthy you are of its color.” </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have a beta so I apologize profusely for all and any grammar errors you may encounter D: as of right now this story of the series is complete and any updates on this particular story will only be grammar and punctual corrections!

Unlike the rest of the animal clinic, Deaton’s office gave Stiles a great sense of comfort. Soft cream colored walls and dark furniture decorated the room alongside an array of books and photographs of what Stiles could only assume were people who Deaton knew. Stiles wondered if they were also linked with the supernatural world somehow. There were no overpowering scents in the office either; just the subtle smell of fresh pine and dewy grass, Stiles suspected there was magic involved considering how the rest of the building was engulfed in the scents of different animals and medicine.

He sat in one of the chairs in front of Deaton’s office paying close attention to his hands; they were adorned with long, nimble fingers which were once calloused but now were now soft to the touch as if they have never seen any hardships. Stiles wondered if he ran a claw across his palm deep enough if it would–

“Stiles.” Deaton’s voice brought him out of his thoughts and back into the real world. “Did you hear what I just said?” Deaton asked, there was no malice or judgement in his voice, only simple curiosity.

Stiles nodded, “I– yeah, I heard you,” Stiles says, “I still don’t get why it’s barely happening now.” ‘When I’ve been bleeding like a freak for the last 7 fucking months.’ Was left unsaid. 

“It’s a pretty simple explanation.” Deaton says as he looked over Stiles’ medical report, “Your body has been through a lot of stress lately and it didn’t feel it was safe enough to start that part of your cycle. Female werewolf bodies of your type act in a similar way when–”

“But I’m not female now am I?” Stiles spat out venomously, his eyes darkening with malice. Deaton looked at the young boy in front of him with sad eyes, “No, Stiles, you’re not. We’ve had this conversation before.”  

They had, multiple times, but it didn’t make Stiles feel alright with the situation none the less, it just made the nerves and anxiety pool deeper into the pit of his stomach and mock him until they began to fade away and left him feeling empty. So very empty and void of any and all emotions.

Despite the clarification, it was one thing hearing about it and a whole other experience knowing it was actually happening to him. “Yeah, whatever,” Stiles mumbled, “So what’s going to happen to me now? Just get really horny until it stops?” Deaton seemed slightly amused by his statement.

“It’s a bit more than just getting overly aroused,” Deaton explained, “Your body has already started to prepare for it from what it seems. You’re craving fattier foods, your scent is changing as well as your hormone levels and the day before it starts, your body will flush any and all excess waste the day before so it can focus on the task at hand.”

Stiles wanted to ask what said task was, but he really didn’t need an answer when he already knew what it was. It sickened him, made him feel like an outcast despite all the support he’s gotten from his father and the pack.

He absolutely hated it but this was his life now; this is what he gets for helping his friends stay alive.

This is his punishment.

“So what do I need to do now?”

***

Months had come and gone throughout the year and despite the few instances where he could laugh and joke around with his friends knowing they were all safe, the darkness, the emotions he so tried to suppress since the incident, seemed to linger the very essence of his mind, body and soul on most days.

Some days weren’t that bad, Stiles could get up and cook breakfast for him and his father, go to school and plaster a smile on his face for everyone to see and even get most of the homework he had for that week in one long sitting.

Then there were the bad days, which was most days, the days where Stiles just didn’t want to get out of bed for the sole purpose of not having to hear anyone’s voice. The days where when he saw the people around him smile and all he felt was the sudden rush of anger that boiled and churned in his stomach; Stiles wanted nothing more than to snap their necks just so he could stop hearing them all speak if it meant he could seclude himself in the comfort of silence and a peaceful mind.

He just wanted some goddamn peace and quiet, why couldn’t they give him that?

He despite everything that’s happened to him, he wasn’t blind nor was he an idiot, he can see the subtle looks of pity his friends would give him when the stale scent of shame and fresh blood wrapped around his body like a cocoon when that time of the month came. The way they would try their best to make him smile for those few days and act too abnormally normal as if there wasn’t an elephant in the room.

It wasn’t just the looks of pity that he despises, it was the fact that no one – not even for a single second – would ever understand what it was like for him; the choices that were made more than half a year ago didn’t affect them personally, mentally, or intimately.

They had absolutely no fucking idea what it was like, sure they asked him how he was doing, how he was coping, but Stiles knew better than to tell them how he really felt. It was easier to lie to the humans; they weren’t walking lie detectors. Lying to a werewolf or a kitsune was a bit more challenging, but Stiles learned how to lie straight to their faces when he wasn’t up for questions that made him feel like he was being interrogated.

Stiles doesn’t feel guilty about lying, he doesn’t feel much nowadays.

Stiles didn’t want to call himself a freak of nature considering the things that go bump in the night were a more common occurrence than he originally thought, but it was difficult not to.

When Stiles was possessed for those few moments of his life, the Nogitusne had delved deep into recesses of his mind where his most well kept secrets and thoughts were put away a lock and no key. But it had uncovered those thoughts, and looked through all his memories as though they were all one fascinating movie made just for his eyes.

It saw the last few moments of his mother’s death, the days after when Stiles saw his father drown his sorrows in alcohol and refused to look at him until a month when he found Stiles in the corner of his room in a small fetal position, it saw how Stiles told his father how he planned on killing himself by running a knife down his arm so he could see mommy again and the pain in his chest would go away. The Nogitsune saw it all, and took advantage of every single one of his weaknesses in any way that it can.

And oh how it did.

The Nogitsune was ancient as far as Stiles could understand; it must’ve seen all sorts of creatures throughout its long life before it was destroyed, so when it discovered how Stiles’ spark began to radiate through him in the darkest of times; who would the Nogitsune be if it didn’t cause him a little chaos and strife even after its departure.

Stiles assumes that the Nogitsune knew that its finals days were among it and if it was going to leave, it would leave with a bang.

The self-inflicted torture would be something Stiles would never forget, the searing pain of knives slicing into the v’s of his hips and needles filled with a substance only the Nogitsune was aware of were being injected in the most sensitive of areas; the insides of his thighs. While the Nogitsune chuckled, tears flowed freely from Stiles eyes from the unbearable pain; his nude body caked in mud and dark red blood.

“Our time is running out, Stiles,” the Nogitsune would tell him in a sad voice as if it were saying goodbye to an old friend while creating a large circle of mountain ash around him, ignoring the pain that coursed through Stiles’ body; the dark forest around him would’ve seemed peaceful, almost romantic as the soft light from the blue moon seemed to softly caress his blood smeared body like a delicate lover.

“Wouldn’t want to want to leave without one last trick up our sleeve.” Would be the last thing Stiles understood before he saw his body lie flat in the middle of the circle and the soft chanting in a foreign language began to escape his lips.

He had blacked out to the sight of a beautiful and rare full moon watching his body writhe in pain.

***

After school, Stiles goes over to Scott’s house for what would be the last time when he would probably be completely sane and aware of his actions. He’d like to spend those last few moments with his best friend, and more importantly tell him why exactly he wouldn’t be around for the next several days.

Stiles couldn’t help but feel envious of how bright Scott seemed to be even after all the horrific events that have happened to them; Stiles noted how a soft and sweet scent would emit from the alpha whenever he was happy, relaxed or even when he was flirty with his new girlfriend Kira. Stiles was envious of that scent, his own scent didn’t even come close to that when he believed he was happy.

Maybe that was the issue, he only believed he was happy but never was.

Scott’s home would normally be a place of comfort for Stiles, should be a place of comfort, but he could only manage to consider it a place of a multitude of scents. He could smell Scott, Melissa, the other pack members, even his own father’s scent was here.

It should all give him a feeling of comfort from what he’s read in the beastiary and Deaton’s teachings.

It doesn’t.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t pretend.

Both boys walked into the kitchen where Scott complained about how Mr.Harris was a dick on the class for giving them an unnecessarily difficult pop-up quiz on stuff they barely touched upon. Stiles got a perfect score on the quiz because he had spent an entire night reading the necessary chapters because he couldn’t find it in himself to sleep; he wasn’t about to tell Scott that.

“So, dude, what do you want to do this weekend?” Scott gleefully asked as he handed Stiles a coke, unaware of the fact that Stiles had to stay away from caffeinated beverages for the next few days since it would be bad for his body cycles.

Stiles took the coke in his hands but didn’t bother opening it.

“Um, I don’t know at the moment. Maybe just lay low for a while, I’ve got a lot of homework from my oth–” Scott’s phone notification cut him off; it was Kira and the only reason Stiles knew that was because Scott’s soft cinnamon scent became more pungent and a warm smile grew on his face. Scott began to reply back to whatever Kira had sent him.

Stiles had to do this now or he wouldn’t ever get the chance to tell him before Scott’s attention was completely taken by the phone in his hands.

Have courage, Stiles.

“Actually, no. I’ve actually got something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“Uh huh.”

“It’s about my, um.” He never really mentioned his condition since the incident; he really didn’t know how to go about it without sounding weird. “It’s, it’s about my–”

“Yeah,” Scott absentmindedly responded as he typed away on his phone.

It was already too late.

Stiles hated that, he hated being pushed to the side like he didn’t fucking matter to anyone. He could tell his scent had gone terribly sour, claws were itching to extend and his irises started to glow around the edges.  

He was completely unaware of the low growl that was emitting from his throat as he eyed the small device in Scott’s hand because one minute the tanned fingers typing away and the next they had stopped and Scott was calling out his name.

“Stiles? Stiles what’s wrong?” There it was, the worry in Scott’s voice that he had recently grown to dislike so much.

Stiles looked up to see that worry was also in the other boy’s expression, eyebrows knitted together and eyes wide and concerned.

“Stiles?”

The low growl eventually turned into nothing more than a deep sigh as Stiles kept looking at the phone with disgust and then back to the alpha in front of him, slightly tilting his head to the side.

“You can’t even stop texting that stupid little girlfriend of yours while I’m trying to tell you something important, Scott.” Stiles looked straight into his friend’s eyes; a challenge to Scott’s inner wolf. And suddenly, Scott’s worried face turned into one of shock and then anger.

“What the hell is your problem?” Scott snaps back at him, going around the corner to stand in front of the other boy; Stiles backed up but never took his eyes off him.

“Maybe if you would actually listen to what I had to tell you then we wouldn’t be having this problem!”

“I was listening!” Scott desperately insists.

Stiles snaps, “No, fuck you, Scott! You don’t listen, none of you have ever listened to me. All you do is act like the last few months didn’t happen and the world is nothing but sunshine and fucking rainbows.” Stiles was enraged and he’d make sure Scott knew that. “All you do is play alpha to a pack of a bunch of stupid little teenagers and fuck your little downgraded Alli–”

“STILES, THAT’S ENOUGH!” Scott’s voice roared through the house and red began to bleed into his irises.

A bright. Piercing. Red.

Oh god.

There’s so much blood on his body.

So much blood.

All he could see was the red on his palms and hear the loud drumming of his heart that deafened him to all other sounds.

So much blood.

Breathe, remember to breathe.

Stiles could faintly hear the echoes of another voice begin to infiltrate his ears as he started to become more aware of his surroundings. It had been such a long time since he had an episode, but the fear that seemed to drown him and make his chest tight had returned with a vengeance.

But he had more control now; the episodes would me much shorter and quicker than when he was human.

Feeling much less disorientated, Stiles saw the way Scott was kneeling beside him, telling him how sorry he was and asking if Stiles was alright. Stiles realized now that he was huddled in the corner of a kitchen trying to make himself as small as possible.

He didn’t want to feel enclosed, he needed to run, needed to get away from Scott and the looks of pity that were thrown his way.

But not without a one last trick up his sleeve.

Not without leaving a mark on the person who had deliberately ignored him and then acted as if he had done nothing wrong.

“You should’ve never been an alpha,” Stiles spat out with pure venom and watch how Scott began to break at his words.

“Stiles, what–”

He took that moment to run out of the house and towards his freedom.

He ignored the way Scott called for him and the scent of confusion that began to emit from the alpha.

***

He ran until he was deep within the preserve of Beacon Hills, the clean forest scent and air around him filled his lungs and helped rid his nose of any unforgiving scents he had the displeasure of catching throughout the day. He could let go here, where no one else could see him. He can let his claws grow out, let his eyes freely glow the soft silver glow around his irises and let his entire body shift and contort into his beta form as he ran his worries away.

“Silver like the moon, Stiles,” the Nogitsune had sung in his voice that night, “I’m going to show the world how unworthy you are of its color.”

Jitters began to flutter out Stiles’ body as he managed to slow down to a walk after an endless session of running in an unset direction. A thin layer of sweat began to coat his body and his hair clung on to his forehead, he looked like a complete mess.

But he really didn’t plan on impressing anyone in the far future; he could feel the tears trickle down his face.

“No one is going to want you after this, Stiles. Not without consequence.” The Nogitsune had said, “A man who is not fully a man, is no man at all.”

And in the lost thoughts of his memories, Stiles let out a loud roar that echoed throughout the woods and made the birds screech and fly out of the trees. Months of repressed anger and sadness released in a small moment where no one could give him looks of pity or false words of encouragement. 

The roar made Stiles feel empty and tired; maybe it had to do with the fact that he hadn’t eaten anything that day but that could be debatable. He just stared at the forest around him but couldn’t see the beauty around him, just saw a bundle of trees, sticks and dirt. At least the silence was comforting. After a few minutes, Stiles began to walk in silence as he made his way through the preserve until he found a more familiar area that could lead him home.

The sun was beginning to set; his father should be home by now packing his suitcase and making his way to the McCall home, she would care for him while Stiles had to deal with his own issues.

Stiles forgot his backpack there, shit.

Though maybe he’ll be excused just this once.

Stiles looked down at his shirt – his gym shirt since he was too lazy to actually change out of it in school – and how it had soaked up his sweat and now was an even more hideous color of grey and reeked of salty sweat and those unsavory pheromones his body ever so subtly tried to create to let the whole world know how ripe he’d be soon enough.

As he began to rid himself of the shirt, he could hear the soft footsteps of a person make their way towards him, smell them before he could even see them; the soft scent of leather and pines began to tease his nose.

Stiles hates himself for the way his heart began to flutter.

“What do you want, Derek?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for later on: This chapter is definitely darker than what I had anticipated previously. Please look over the tags again to make sure you are comfortable with reading about any topics on there.

Derek heard the roar echo throughout the preserve as he made his way towards the person responsible for it; it was full of agony and anger, Derek should know considering he was exactly the same when his family was murdered.  
Everyone was aware of the drastic change Stiles’ body had gone through, but no one really understood just how much it affected him. Stiles never really talked about what happened that night, he would just avoid the question as if they never asked it in the first place. Derek understood what that felt like when all you wanted is to completely avoid talking about your traumatic incident and hope that the wounds would heal on their own.

Then the physical changes began.

Stiles never mentioned it, never made any indication that he was aware of the subtle weight gain around his hips and thighs; it made him look equal parts masculine and feminine. But Derek didn’t just notice the weight, he also noticed way Stiles’ scent began to change into something he couldn’t truly describe. Stiles smelled like _Stiles_ , earthy and a soft mix of spicy cinnamon mixed into the concoction; he no longer smelled of the occasional musky arousal that most boys do his age but rather of the medicinal scent related to shame. Yet there was something else underneath all those scents, something so foreign that Derek really didn’t know how to categorize it.

It only took a few minutes to reach Stiles and Derek couldn’t help but notice how the boy was shirtless and with a fine layer of sweat that coated his body. Derek’s eyes settle a second too long on the other boy’s soft and curved hips but he doesn’t think much of that.

“What do you want, Derek?” Stiles asks but didn’t make any movements to turn around and look at the other werewolf; Derek could hear the rise in Stiles’ heartbeat.

“Scott called told me you had a small panic attack and ran off,” Derek says as he makes his way closer to Stiles. Derek’s voice is soft and cautious, “I figured I’d find you here considering you like to run a lot whenever you’re stressed out.”

Stiles let out a humorless laugh, “Right, you’re only here because Scott sent you out here.” When he turns around, Derek could finally see the way his irises had a small glowing ring of silver around them. “Well you found me, congratulations, Derek. You can go back and report to Scott so he can give you your gold star and you can leave me the hell _alone_.”

Stiles walks past Derek and forcefully bumps his shoulder with Derek’s along the way; Derek refuses to have any of Stiles’ shit today. He grabbed Stiles wrist to stop him from walking and a low growl came from the boy and when he turned his head to look at Derek, his eyes were now completely silver; in the back of Derek’s head, he could never help but be mesmerized each time he saw Stiles’ beautiful and unique eye color.

“Get your hand off me, Derek.” Stiles’ voice was calm, too calm. Derek releases his wrist instantly.

“I’m not just here for Scott, I’m here because I was worried about you too, Stiles.” Derek insists.

He could immediately see the anger contort Stiles features into as he stared at Derek with disgust.

“That’s _bullshit_ and you know it,” Stiles says, his voice on the verge of sounding animalistic and takes a step back away from the older man, “You don’t care about me. The only thing you care about is that bitch that gets you off–”  
“What the hell does Braeden have to do with this?” Derek demands.

“Oh I don’t know, Derek,” Stiles says in a mocking tone and on the verge of sounding lunatic, “why don’t you ask all your other psychotic girlfriends? You seem to have a thing for –”

Stiles never got to finish his sentence because Derek moves towards him and pushes him hard towards the ground; he ignored the way Stiles whimpered as he fell. He knew Stiles was trying to push his buttons just like he always did with anyone else who tried to go near him nowadays, but Derek didn’t care, Braeden didn’t deserve to be talked about in such a manner.  
  
“That’s a low, even for you,” Derek says as his eyes glow a warm yellow, “I do worry about you, Stiles, I care about you, everyone has done nothing but care for you and you’ve done absolutely nothing but take your anger out on all of us!” It was harsh, but it had to be said.

“Stiles, it’s been _months_ and we both know you’re stronger than this, but if you’re not willing to take our help,” Derek hadn’t realized how loud his voice had risen as he talked to the boy on the ground who refused to look at him; he lowers his voice to a calmer tone “then so be it.”

Derek begins to walk back in the direction from where he came and not bothering to check if Stiles got up or not, “Stay away from me for the next few days.”

But he only gets a few feet away before he begins to hear the rustling of Stiles getting up and letting out a sigh, what he says next froze Derek on the spot.

“Do you know what it’s like to have your flesh cut out, Derek?” Stiles asked, “I wish I didn’t.”

Derek’s heart sank and by the time he turned around, Stiles was gone.

*******

Stiles didn’t know how to feel at the words Derek decided to spew at him.

Anger?

Embarrassment?

Shame?

Maybe all three.

But Derek didn’t understand, how could he? Where Derek’s anger and threats were normally justified, Stiles’ were sporadic and uncalled for most of the time. Where Derek had surpassed the traumas and hardships life had thrown at him, Stiles couldn’t find it in himself to keep moving forward anymore. Where Derek had the will to not let the darkness get to him, Stiles found himself fluctuating between fighting back and giving up by the time the day ended.

Derek didn’t seem to get that.

No one seems to get that, not his father, not Scott, not Melissa, not sweet Malia who was still so very innocent of the world, not the courageous Lydia or the bubbly joy that was Kira.

Stiles is aware that he’s unstable but he just doesn’t know how to fix that. Therapy was something people always suggested that he do. Stiles didn’t need a shrink, he already knew what was wrong with him, all he wanted was his old body back and not have to wake up in the middle of the night screaming about the pain that coursed through is body that night. He couldn’t have that anymore and now his life was nothing more than an utter clusterfuck of mixed emotions that couldn’t fill up how hollow he feels in his chest.

By the time he finally reaches his house, the twilight had long gone and the night came about to greet him in a silent ‘ _Hello_ ’. He can’t hear his father’s heartbeat anywhere near the house as he reached the front door nor was his car in the driveway so he must’ve left before Stiles got home.

He idly wonders if his father would have to inevitably tell Scott about why he’ll be staying with them for the next few days. Deaton, his father and Melissa were the only ones who knew about just how much Stiles’ body had changed since that night, but they swore to Stiles they wouldn’t tell anyone; Stiles wanted to be the only one to tell people about his new condition when he felt ready. When he reaches the kitchen and dining area, he notices his backpack perched on the table like a cruel reminder of what the events that happened that day.

Looking back at it, Stiles had been an idiot.

He wanted to make his best friend hurt so badly that he hadn’t realized what wounds he may have reopened at the time and reminding Scott of how life was a cruel bitch to him.

But life was still a much crueler bitch to Stiles, he was sure about that.

He roamed through the pockets of his backpack until he found his phone with the battery almost completely drained, when he noticed a multitude of texts notifications on it. His father telling him he left for the McCalls for the next few days and to let him know if anything goes wrong to give him a call, Melissa giving him words of comfort on how neither her nor her father would speak a word to Scott about the next few days and to stay safe and a bundle of messages from Scott asking why his father was there and if he was ok.

Stiles didn’t respond do any of them.

After having a dinner of nothing more than a bottle of vitamin water – the only thing his stomach could tolerate and not try to flush out – he loses himself to soft tranquil music from his phone that helps clear his mind for a few moments in the dimly lit house. He sat on the chair with his head tilted back and swayed with the music and unconsciously began to softly gyrate his hips as well; deliberately ignoring the increasing slick that beginning to produce between his legs. When his head finally feels clear, Stiles decides it was finally time to get ready.

He walks upstairs to the bathroom and turns on the shower to let it heat up as he strips himself of his clothes that still reeked of repulsive sweat; he really should put them in the wash, but he’s just too tired and there were more important matters to be attended to. It isn’t until he looks at his form through the mirror that it truly hits him that all of this is really happening.

Despite the fact that his upper chest and arms have toned throughout the last few months, the reflection he sees through the mirror is still so very soft and delicate. His hips were significantly wider and curvier and the layer of fat that accumulated around his legs had hidden any definite signs that there was muscle there in the first place; he’s pretty sure his ass grew along the process. Where he once was hairy with thick brown hair had begun to fall the last week and left his lower body completely smooth to the touch and helped reveal every mole that kissed his entire body. Through all that, none of that seemed to faze him as much as what was between his legs.

Or rather, lack thereof.

Because between his legs was not the member that Stiles had grown up with his whole life that was the source of his many lewd jokes that he had, but instead was the soft and hairless mound of flesh that he would often fantasize about on a woman. With ever step he takes or the shift of his weight, he can feel the slick of wetness that made his folds glisten with need and he absolutely despised that now.

Stiles had a vagina and no amount of magic in the world could reverse what the Nogitsune had done to him.

“A man who is not fully a man, is no man at all,” Stiles repeated to himself as the steam of the shower head began to coat the mirror in mist and rid him of the image in front of him before stepping into the shower.

Stiles wasn’t ignorant, he was aware of the difference between sex and gender; it was a pretty popular topic on the internet nowadays, but when those people decided they wanted to have their sex changed it was all by choice. Stiles never had that choice, he was possessed and the Nogitsune made that choice for him against his will, to take away something that was part of his identity as a man and as a male human recently made werewolf. Stiles didn’t want the soft and tender mound between his legs, he wanted to be whole again!

He didn’t want to feel like his body was stitched up incorrectly all the time and feel like an idiot whenever he reached down his boxers for the missing organ that was no longer there.

The Nogitsune was one sadistic son of a bitch.

The worst part was knowing that his dating life would be completely altered from here on out; the thought of having to explain to anyone who was interested in dating him on how he wasn’t born female but instead was male with what he knew was the wrong reproductive system in his body. Sure some may be accepting, but therein lies that danger that there would be those who just aren’t particularly interested in men with his sort of characteristics. But Stiles has his own solution for this dilemma and that was to simply just not date anyone ever again; it’s a simple plan and Stiles likes it.

As Stiles steps into the shower and began to scrub away the stench of sweat off his body, he thought about what Deaton had told him. He said it’s called being intersex where both male and female biology come together in one body. In his case, the Nogitsune had found a way to make the change happen and solidify the change with the help of Stiles’ spark, a couple of ingredients the Nogitsune gathered here and leaving Stiles to die under a blue moon for his friends to find him.

When the pack arrived, Stiles’ was barely recognizable with all the mud and blood covered on him and his heart was barely beating; Scott refused to watch him die, it’s a shame he didn’t know what it would entail if ended up biting Stiles. Deaton explained how bitten sparks in packs acted as bridges between werewolves and the things that harmed them; where a werewolf could not cross mountain ash or safely handle things such as wolfsbane, a bitten spark could do these things effortlessly. He had also explained how sparks have a strong gene pool that made them candidates to carry a werewolf’s child who would be born strong enough to sustain the nature of a true alpha as a means to keep the species alive.

But those were cases were a spark is willing, and eager to be part of a pack and where the magic was pure and took months of preparation. Stiles’ creation was made of malice, hatred and unforgettable torture he didn’t think possible. Even if he was unconscious for the change of his body, he knew that the cuts and skinning weren’t the worst part of the torture. The worst part was when he woke up in his new body.

Stiles could hear himself sob through the harsh clash of water meeting tile as the memories began to fill his mind once more; his hand began to slip lower and lower between his legs.

***

Blooming fiery red pain courses through Stiles’ entire body as he begins to awaked from the blackout he previously experienced as he coughed up the saliva that had begun to cut off his air supply. The moon was still out to lighten the night, saturated with light and perfectly round as it watched Stiles try to move his body to a sitting position.

It was a mistake to try and move so quickly, god he was in so much pain.

So the retracts back to the position he was in when he woke up and begins to slowly move his body experimentally to see which parts hurt less and which more. He can move his arms if he was careful with them, his shoulders and back felt like they had just gone through a rigorously inhumane workout but it was still a tolerable pain, it was when he tried to move his lower body that he could feel that something was definitely not right.

His breath hitched and his breathing came to a stop as he started to carefully move his legs together and–

How are his muscles clenching _there_?

His heart rate begins to speed up as the wounds inside his thighs begin to bleed a little more with every movement and stutter that happens between them.

How is his body doing _that_?

His breathing resumes in a quick staccato rhythm as he tries to miserably lift his head up to look down his body.

The sight terrifies him.

The flesh that the Nogitsune had previously carved out had left his wounds exposed and were now coated with wet dirt and had bled enough to where the blood started to drip down his sides; he drew up his hands and saw that his fingers also had a fine layer of dirt as if he had been digging the earth beneath them while unconscious. Lower still, his eyes widened in fear when he saw the array of dark bruises and scabs that began to collect on his skin and seemed to get closer together as they made their way towards Stiles–

Oh god no.

Oh fuck no.

Stiles screamed in utter terror before he could fully process what he was doing and seeing. Between his legs he could see mound where his penis once held place. He immediately understood where the uncontrolled clenching came from. Not from his organ or sack, but from the new opening inside him.

His screams became sobs as he dared not touch anywhere near his lower body out of fear, and his sobs turned into cries of help as he found himself praying that somebody – anybody – would find him soon.

The sobs and cries began to turn into frantic gasps and Stiles – Stile was laughing?

The laughing turned maniacal as Stiles began to notice how little by little he was gaining less control over his voice, over his movements, over his body.

The Nogitsune was back.

Stiles can feel everything that’s happening to his body, the pain in his chest as his body continued to laugh and the gleeful joy that the Nogitsune felt as it continued to laugh.

Stiles was terrified.

“Oh, Stiles, did you really think we would leave you just like that?” the Nogitsune asks as it sat up effortlessly and coyly looks at Stiles’ new equipment; ignoring how the boy’s body protested the change in body position. The searing pain that follows with each movement made Stiles want to scream in agony, but he couldn’t, he was trapped in behind his eyes but could feel the involuntary tears immediately stream down his own face.

“Oh why do you cry, Stiles? Don’t you like the pretty flower we gave youuuu?” the Nogitsune cooed as it brought one of Stiles hands up to softly caress the dark bruised sex.

“Such a pretty flower don’t you think, Stiles?” Stiles wanted to scream in protest as the fingers traced up and down the new and hairless lips that brought him nothing but agony and pain; the tears continued flowing.

It hurt so fucking much.

He felt his body chuckle and a slow warmth began to slowly flow into him.

“I bet I can make you feel nice, Stiles.”

Stiles felt like he could pass out right now as a weight also began to sink into his stomach; it was such a weird experience feeling two completely different emotions at the same time.

“Make your flower quiver and remind you of how little of a man you are now,” the Nogitsune sighed as it began to rub little circles at the very top of his newly formed sex. Stiles could feel the arousal through the sheering pain that blossomed through him as the Nogitsune spreads his legs wider and went back down to lie on Stiles’ back, presenting him to the ripe light of the moon.

Stiles felt so betrayed by his own body. How could it even think about pleasure when all he could feel was the tearing pain of his bleeding wounds and aches of his body?

The warmth began to replace the weight that was pooling in Stiles’ stomach as the Nogitsune went lower for a moment to feel the freshly new slick that was created from his opening.

“You feel that, Stiles? Your pack would be absolutely disgusted by you if they saw you like this,” The demon taunted him with the soft moans that emitted through his throat as the caresses became more frantic, needier, his body craved more; the tears never stop escaping Stiles’ eyes, the blood and pain never left his body.

He began to pray to every possible deity in existence that it would all be over soon.

“So disgusted and revolted by how you will be from now on.”

The moans grew louder.

“What would your alpha and father think?”

The warmth between his legs felt even hotter.

“What would Derek think?”

His sex became wetter as the orgasm rippled through his body followed by the feeling of his filthy hands scraping the bloody wounds on his thighs.

And finally, finally, he passes out once again.

***

The smell of his satisfied arousal invaded his nose despite the water’s best effort to wash away any evidence of his newly created slick down the drain. His legs begin to feel weak and Stiles brought himself into a fetal position on the tiles beneath him.

 

Stiles closes his eyes and cries for a long time as he begins to dread the upcoming days of his first heat.


	3. Chapter 3

_2 Days Later_

 

Handgun, revolver, shotgun, rifle, semiautomatic pistol, if there was one thing Derek could do now it would probably be to add “Gun Expert” to his resume; that isn’t to say that his resume wasn’t already eye catching to begin with. But even so, Derek would never will be a fan of firearms. There was something that felt so unjust knowing that even the weakest person could simply point and shoot at their target and they would be dead within a matter of milliseconds. Derek liked knowing where his strengths lied, knowing that he could easily tear down another creature with his bare hands because that’s how nature designed him to be.

A predator amongst the crowd.

But he also understood the necessity of firearms, how they could be useful in times of war and how hunters had to defend themselves against creatures much stronger than them. They were a necessary evil.

Which is why he’s here in the middle of his loft again staring at the large wooden table with the wide array of weapons and ammo that would probably a trigger-happy moron jizz in their pants if they ever caught a glimpse of the firearms. Braeden seemed eager to show him how to identify and use each weapon on the table since the incident with the beserkers; if he was honest with himself, he would say it was just a means of her trying to earn his trust.

It was pretty damn difficult to lie to another werewolf, it was even more difficult when he tried to lie to himself when he knew the reality of the situation.

What he and Braeden had was purely physical.

From the moment they had met, he could smell the subtle leak of arousal from her pores that only seemed to amplify as they worked closer and closer together. Derek saw how her eyes would dilate when he got hear her, how her heart began to beat a little faster when his hand touched her own, how she would purposefully wear minimal clothing near him and how she lost her voice when would take her to bed and pull her apart with his touch and kisses.

But it was all physical.

And Derek didn’t trust her enough to let her in.

Aside from Paige, Derek was aware of his unhealthy fascination with women who had the ability to both seduce and destroy him at the same time. To be self-aware of that tore Derek apart. After Jennifer, Derek refused to let anyone in or put his trust in anyone that he didn’t consider pack. It’s why he was willing to take Braeden to the hospital but refused to put his gun down when they had sex the first night until he was sure she was in a state of vulnerability he deemed safe.

But Derek craved affection like no other, it was wired in his DNA as a werewolf to crave affection and to be social and this would be the closest he’d allow himself to feeling as if someone truly wanted to be with him.

Braeden was an asset to the pack and a suitable ally, but a dangerous one as well.

That brought his mind back to Stiles.

It wasn’t uncommon for Stiles to snap at him about his dating preferences and attempt to lecture him about proper dating etiquette, but his distaste for Braeden went to a whole other level that left Derek dumbfounded. Because while Braeden wasn’t back, she had been willing to help the pack out the last few months but Stiles refused to accept Derek and Braeden’s relationship.

If Derek could even call it a relationship.

But since the incident a few days ago, Derek began to wonder what exactly made Stiles feel so venomous towards her. He was aware of the boy’s attraction towards him, but it was the kind of attraction that was never acted upon, it was innocent and adorning. Even if Stiles was with Malia at the time, the sweet subtle smell never went away, Derek wondered if Stiles was even aware of his own feelings.

But that sweet subtle scent left after the blue moon along with Stiles’ joy and trust for anyone around him, including the pack.

Derek knew what that type of trauma could do to a person.

So perhaps Stiles’ recently intensified hatred towards her wasn’t specifically aimed at him and Braeden and maybe the boy was just lashing out for the sake of hurting anyone around him again. He had seen the episodes Stiles had whenever he would get sporadically upset at something or someone. Derek felt a pang of guilt knowing he could’ve handled the situation better than how he did that day in the woods.

It was all confusing and worrisome, Derek really didn’t know what to think about the whole situation with how Stiles was behaving the last few months, it was one thing to be traumatized after something so barbaric and cruel, but Stiles was going through something worse than that and he refused any sort of help after the first month of being completely healed.

No one has heard from Stiles the last few days and that would’ve worried Derek had it not been for the fact that Scott called him and told him how John, Stiles’ father, had taken residence in their home, threatened anyone with arrest and jail time if they entered his home to disrupt Stiles and refused to tell Scott what was going on with Stiles but assured him that he was fine.

Though it wasn’t uncommon that Stiles would –

“Derek?”

A soft voice breaks him from his thoughts and back into the real world with the guns and Braeden by his side with a worried look on her face; the evening light that leaks from the windows of his loft made her skin glow.

“Are you ok?” Derek nods and places the pistol he was holding back down on the table.

“Yeah, I was just zoning out,” he says as he watches Braeden trail her eyes down his body and close the gap between their bodies.

“Oh? Maybe I can help you out with that.” She begins to trail her hands up his biceps until they rested on the back of his neck and brought him down for a kiss. This was good, he probably needs to blow off some steam and lower his stress levels a bit; he maneuvers them to where he was leaning against the table with one hand around her waist, the other was near the pistol he had just placed down.

The feeling of another body against his own always riled Derek up, feeling the warmth of his tongue caress another and the soft moans that were emitted in the air.

The phone in his back pocket begins to ring.

_One’s an incident…_

Before he could get his phone, Braeden reached for his back pocket to check who it was. Her face didn’t give anything away as she hit the ignore button and placed the phone in his back pocket.

“No one important,” she says and goes back to kissing him; her heartbeat fast and steady.

Beacon Hills had been fairly quiet the last few months so there were no threats present at the moment, he could be a little selfish this one time and ignore everything for a little while.

He started to hear the little sighs and moans Braeden began to release as their kisses started to become needier, she was dazed with lust and arousal and Derek took the opportunity to bring his other hand around her waist so he could bring her legs around his waist and walk towards the bed.

The phone in his back pocket begins to ring again.

_Two’s a coincidence…_

Derek begins to put kisses down her chest and lets her hands trail underneath his shirt to feel the solid muscles of his back as she moans at his hands begin to tease her sides. The scent of her arousal get stronger as he runs his tongue from her chest, up her neck and into her mouth once more to seek the moans he’s making her create. 

He starts to lift her shirt so he can get to her breast when he hears the phone in his back pocket ring again.

_Three’s a pattern…_

He immediately stops all his touches much to Braeden’s protests and finally decides to check who keeps calling him; his face hardens when he notices that it’s Stiles.

John had said that Stiles was safe so Derek was pretty sure that he wasn’t in any mortal danger. Even so, he knew he couldn’t take those chances, because the fact that Stiles is willingly calling him after their incident makes him equal parts worried an annoyed.

He answers the phone, his voice a bit harsher than he anticipates, “What do you want, Stiles?”

From the other end of the line, Derek could only hear gasps and stutters for a few seconds before Stiles began to speak, “D-Derek, I need,” Stiles gasps as if he was trying to catch his breath, it made Derek’s blood run cold, “I need your h-help.”

Derek’s back straightens as he hears the other boy groan in pain, “Stiles, what’s wrong? Where are you?” he looks back at Braeden who didn’t seem at all interested in what was happening to Stiles and more interested in getting back to their previous activities.

“I’m, I’m safe. I’m at my house but I need you to p-pick up something from Deaton’s clinic for m-me.” Stiles gave another groan in pain and a high-pitched whimper followed; it was almost animalistic, “It’s a medication I forgot to pick up from his office and I thought I had it but–”

“Stiles, are you sick?” Derek’s voice was now full of worry, long gone with the snippets of anger it had a few moments ago.

“Something like that,” Stiles says. “Look, when you come over, just leave it on the table and get out of my house, can you do that?” he snaps at Derek but then let out another painful whine. Derek wanted to be mad, but Stiles was in obvious pain and Derek refused to let another pack member suffer if he had the ability to help alleviate that.

Derek got off the bed and begins to make his way towards the couch to grab his leather jacket.

“Sure, I’ll call Scott to go check up on –”

“NO!” Stiles screamed, “Don’t tell anyone, please.” Derek could only classify Stiles’ pleas as desperate and scared.

“Please,” Stiles voice turned into a whisper, “I just need you to bring me the medication.”

Derek didn’t hesitate to agree and promised Stiles that he’d get to his home as soon as possible. When the call ends, he puts on his leather jacket and gets his car keys before he turns around to acknowledge Braeden again.

Which is the exact moment when he remembers what she said earlier and his blood begins to boil.

_‘No one important.’_

“Don’t ever prevent another pack member from talking to me again.” His voice is calm but he made sure she can hear the anger in it, but Braeden only seems amused by this.

“Humans, they can’t be in packs, Derek,” she tells him as if speaking to a child, “You of all people should know that.”

What?

“Since when the hell can’t humans be in packs?” he demands.

“I had a conversation with many experienced hunters, Derek. They all say the same thing. Weak, little humans can’t be in a pack full of were–” her voice stops when she hears the growl come from Derek and sees his eyes glow.

“Hunters,” Derek says with disbelief, “you had a conversation with _hunters_ about pack dynamics.” And the thought made his blood boil realizing the reality of who she was. Braeden was a gun for hire, she had no doubt killed his kind before and had the audacity to sit on his bed and try to lecture him about how packs worked.

“I’m from the Hale Pack and I have many generations of knowledge passed down to me about my kind and pack dynamics.” He spits out at her, “I can assure you that the humans who are in werewolf packs are stronger than any hunter out there. You have no right to sit there and call Stiles weak when you have absolutely no fucking idea what he’s been through!” Derek can see the fear her eyes grow as his voice gets louder with each word that slips out of his mouth.

Braeden was unaware of Stiles’ change and no one inside or outside the pack was aware of it aside from medical personnel and his father; it wasn’t anybody’s secret to tell, only Stiles’ if he deemed it safe enough. But here she was declaring that Stiles wasn’t pack, that he was a weak little human

His mind began to put two and two together, Stiles sudden and intense hatred for her, Braeden’s assumptions about pack dynamics.

“Have you ever told Stiles that he wasn’t pack?”

“No.”

Her heartbeat stutters.

And Derek’s stomach drops at the thought of Stiles believing her, thinking that he doesn’t belong in the pack; he finally understands where the venom for Braeden comes from.

“If I find out that Stiles believes that he isn’t pack,” Derek threatens, “rest assure you will regret it.” Braeden tries to speak but he doesn’t give her the time to do so, “I want you out of this loft by the time I get back. I don’t care where you go,” he continues, “but stay away from my pack. And stay the fuck away from Stiles. You’re no longer welcomed here.”

***

“Heat.” Derek flatly says as he tries to comprehend what Deaton just told him; his eyes shift from the orange pill bottle in the vet’s hand to his eyes. “Stiles is going into heat.”

“That is what I said.” Deaton places the pill bottle in front of Derek along with an envelope with neat block letters that simply reads ‘Stiles Stilinski’ with directions on how to take those pills.

“I assume that’s why you’re here,” Deaton says, “I was hoping Stiles didn’t have to take them since it’s his first heat and his body really needs to adjust to the change, but according to what I’ve uncovered, these should be safe to take after the first 48 hours have passed.” He points to the pill bottle; four large pills rest inside.

Derek is still in the process of trying to understand what he just heard when Deaton continues to talk.

“But from your tone, I take it Stiles didn’t exactly tell you what these pills were for.” It wasn’t a question as it was more of a statement.

Derek shakes his head, “I didn’t know werewolves even had heats.” Deaton’s expression grimaces.

“They don’t.” Deaton looks down at the envelope, Derek had rarely seen the vet have such a pained expression on his face before. The scent of bitter anger pours out of him.

“The Nogitsune is an incredibly malevolent spirit.” Deaton looks at the items before him with pity, “What it managed to do to Stiles is something that’s rarely recorded in beastiaries of hunters or packs. Not just that it made Stiles into a bitten spark.” Deaton’s eyes meet with Derek’s. “It managed to make Stiles more animalistic. Primal. The Nogitsune forced on to him the instinctual desire to be bred as a wolf would when it enters a heat. I think it had the intention of thriving off of Stiles reaction to his new body.” Deaton’s voice grew more in disbelief as if he couldn’t believe the words leaving his mouth.

“Why didn’t he tell the pack about this?” Derek feels hurt, whether if it was because of what Stiles had to go through or the fact that Stiles didn’t trust anyone enough with this information, he couldn’t tell.

“Aside from me, only his father and Melissa know,” Deaton says. “As far as I was aware, he planned on telling the pack one by one, I assumed he would tell Scott first since he’s the closest to Stiles.”

For a few and brief silent moments, Derek stood there in silence with guilt curdling in his stomach and constricting his air flow and anger tingling down his spine and through his nerves at the idea of just what type of torture the Nogitsune had put Stiles through in the few moments that night that had inevitably changed his entire life.

“Derek,” Deaton says, “Stiles is in a very delicate position right now. If anything I was hoping you could do something for him.”

Derek looks at him cautiously.

“The pills should kick in a few minutes after he takes them, but I was hoping you can monitor him for the next few hours to make sure he doesn’t have an immediate negative reaction to them. The fact that he’s sane enough to hold a conversation with you over the phone shows just how much control he has over his wolf, neither of you should be in any danger.”

Derek doesn’t hesitate to agree and that seems to please Deaton.

“Good, that’s good. Ok, make sure he takes one – just one – of these by mouth with as much water as he can.”

Derek nods one final time and thanks Deaton before he begins to rush towards the entrance of the clinic in a desperate attempt to reach Stiles faster.

Once in the Camaro, it was only a quick 10 minute drive to Stiles’ house, 5 if he broke every traffic law in existence which he planned to do anyways. It wasn’t difficult anymore to get a better grasp as to what Stiles was going through right now, Derek knew what it felt like to be used, tortured, abused, but no matter how much pain Derek went through, the abuse would stop one way or another. He holds the mental scars but they were reminders that he was a survivor. Derek idly wondered if Stiles didn’t see himself as a survivor, but as a victim of what the world had done to him and what it had taken away from his very being.

Derek’s grip tightened on the steering wheel as he turned the corner of the familiar neighborhood where the Stilinski family resided.

***

When Derek entered the Stilinski home with the key given to him by John; night had fallen outside and the air was cool and dry. The lights were all off and Derek’s night vision kicks in as he made his way through the house. He was immediately engulfed in an array of scents that made him stop dead in his tracks. There was the bitter scent of anger and the same medicinal scent that coated Stiles’ body but in larger quantities. Then there was the smell of arousal, ripe feminine arousal accompanied by the subtle scent that Derek caught on Stiles but now was easily identifiable.

He remembers now, when he was a young boy before the fire, his family had rescued a stray dog that wondered around the preserve until one day they decided to take him in. The dog – Max – wasn’t neutered, so from time to time it would try to mount at least one of his family members when it went into heat. Max one time decided to make Derek’s his next mate and attempted to rigorously breed his back one morning when he snuck into Derek’s room.

Traumatized of the dog, Derek’s mother took him out for ice cream that evening and tried to explain to him that Max was only working on pure instinct and that Derek shouldn’t take it personally or be afraid of him. He took the news pretty well considering he was taking this opportunity to gorge his mouth with his ice cream that was drowning in Oreo crumbs.

Derek hears the whines and stutters emitting from the second floor of the house and runs towards Stiles’ room; his heart pounding out of his chest out of the sheer nerves and worries of what he may find on the other side of the locked door. There, huddled on the corner of the dimly lit room from the small lamp on the desk, was Stiles in nothing but dark boxers. Even in the low light, Derek can see the thin layer of sweat coating Stiles’ body and the soft curves of his body were replaced with sharp corners and contours of a malnourished creature. When Stiles looks up, Derek can see the bright glow of his silver eyes, the dark circles around them and the shadows of his hollow cheekbones. Derek could smell the coppery scent of blood; it wasn’t difficult to find the source seeing how tight Stiles was gripping his forearms, his claws were more than likely out and piercing the flesh beneath them.

“What are you doing up here?” Stiles voice sounds fragile and broken as if he had been screaming for hours on end with no stop. “I told you to leave the fucking med–” his voice is cut off by a high pitched whine that shows off his elongated canines. Stiles is slowly shifting into his beta form against his will. Derek can smell the fresh burst of pheromones leaking out of him and the wet slick his body was creating at an alarming rate. The whining stops as Stiles tries to get up with coltish legs before leveling his eyes with Derek as he slowly tilts his head from side to side. Stiles’ eyes look glassy, his body language no long of a person who was suffering but instead he looks…relaxed? His lips are slightly parted and as Stiles categorizes every inch of the beta in front of him, Derek can also see his nose crinkle as Stiles’ observes his scent. A low, animalistic, growl slowly rumbles out of Stiles throat.

The sight absolutely terrifies him.

“Stiles?”

In a blur, Stiles face shifts to anger as he tries to lunge at Derek but he’s too weak, too malnourished and only makes it a few feet before his knees give out. Derek catches Stiles before he ever gets near the ground. He wouldn’t let Stiles get hurt, not anymore.

Stiles butts his head against Derek’s chest and begins to whine once more, suckling on a random patch of shirt as he – in the best way Derek can explain – _paws_ at the chest before him. With every soft motion of Derek’s hands against Stiles’ skin, the whining seems to become more desperate and the suckling turns into tiny timid licks against Derek’s neck; whether Stiles knows it or not, he’s tilting his own head in submission to Derek.

“Stiles, Stiles, you have to calm down.” Derek insists but Stiles doesn’t seem to acknowledge that Derek is talking to him, he just keeps whining and desperately attempting to scent Derek out of instinct. Derek curses and starts moving with Stiles in his arms towards the disheveled bed. Derek manages to manhandle Stiles on to the bed until he’s finally lying down on his back; Stiles is eagerly showing his belly in submission as he curls deeper into the soft material and only creates little whines and yips, pleading Derek to get closer to him.

Begging him to get closer.

Derek crouches down next to the bed and starts to tell Stiles that he’s going to be alright, that he’ll feel much better soon but the words don’t seem to get through to him. Stiles’ eyes begin to get watery as he desperately attempts to shuffle as close to Derek as humanly possible. Grabbing Derek by his leather jacket, he pushes his face into Derek’s chest again and tries to tug Derek closer to him. Derek doesn’t think his heart could ache so much for a pack member since the fire, but there in the dimly lit room where Stiles didn’t even seem remotely interested in being mounted but instead just yearned to be touched, Derek’s heart began to crack with every little noise of plea that Stiles created.

Derek puts his arm around Stiles and begins to gently stroke his back and instantaneously the feral boy began to release deep sighs of relief and the whines began to slow down.  
“Shh, it’s ok,” Derek coos, “I’m here, I’m here.”

Derek looks around the room and spots a packet of water bottles and boxes full of protein bars next to the closet entrance. ‘ _Water,’_ Derek thinks, ‘ _I need to get Stiles to take that pill._ ’ But with every little movement that signified that Derek would leave Stiles’ side, he was met with a pair of claws trying to desperately tug him back.

An idea came to him then, Stiles in his animalistic state seems to be calmed by not just Derek’s touch, but by his scent as well. Carefully, Derek began to strip himself of his leather jacket and wrapped it around Stiles nude form; he took out the pills and put them on the nightstand next to the bed beforehand. A soft moan of approval escapes his lips as he began to roll around the bed with Derek’s jacket around him in an attempt to drown himself in the scent.

Derek took the opportunity to make the quick trip to the other side of the room for two bottles of water and grabs a few bars as well. When he turns back, he is greeted with the sight of Stiles who had somehow took off his boxers and was lying on top of Derek’s jacket and trying his best to inhale as deeply as he could into the leathery material. One of Stiles’ legs was bent upwards to reveal his drenched sex that looked pink and puffy, eager to be filled and satisfied; Stiles didn’t seem to pay any attention to it, had no made one movement to curve his obvious sexual hunger, his legs only quivered whenever his sex made a slight movement on the soft sheets beneath him.

To any werewolf, the sight would probably be delectable, a spark beta preparing itself to be bred and bare strong children for the next generation of the pack. Filled with the arousal that would make an alpha shift and mount his sex until both were sedated and satisfied.

To Derek, it was a sight that made his stomach drop, because he noticed the other small behaviors Stiles was making to know he wasn’t at all pleased. The way Stiles’ claws flexed at the leathery material or how his brow would lower in frustration and disgust at every shift of his lower body or how he yearned and called out to Derek to be touched and scented.

Stiles ached for affection, and in his wolf state, he searched for the touches he has fiercely refused since he was changed.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Derek makes his way back towards Stiles and sits on the bed with his back resting against the wall, he notices that he has no struggles with getting and eager Stiles to snuggle up next to him. While Stiles resumes his scenting of Derek’s chest, Derek opens the pill bottle, a water bottle and tries to figure out how exactly he’s going to get Stiles to swallow a pill in this state.

He puts the pill back down on the night stand and wraps one arm around Stiles and hooks his hand underneath his jaw to tilt the boy’s head up. Stiles easily obliges with and with the other he places the tip of the water bottle Stiles lips. Stiles tries to push away and whines in protest like a small child but his efforts are weak and Derek doesn’t have to place any effort in keeping him in place.

“Hey, it’s ok. See?” Derek takes a sip from the water bottle and Stiles watches with weak glowing eyes and curiosity.

“It’s ok, it’s safe.”

Stiles seems to understand this and opens his mouth in a small ‘o’ shape. Derek is careful with Stiles, making sure the boy doesn’t choke on the liquid or have any spill out of his mouth. It’s immediate when Derek realizes just how dehydrated Stiles is from the more forceful sucks he tries to put on the water bottle; Derek watches in awe as Stiles closes his eyes in content as he continues to nurse the boy until Stiles has drunk the entire water bottle.

The waves of bitter anger and misery seem to gradually lessen.

Derek throws the water bottle in a random direction and quickly begins to open the second bottle and when he turns around, Stiles is already in position with his mouth open and eager for more water; his eyes are still glowing and glazed.

Before he puts the water to the boy’s lips, he grabs the pill and carefully puts it inside Stiles’ mouth. Stiles seems to be more interested in trying to suckle Derek’s fingers than the actual pill inside his mouth but before he can get a rhythm going, Derek slips his fingers out and quickly grabs the water bottle and tips it at Stiles mouth.

When the pill is swallowed and the bottle is dry of any water, Derek tells him how good he’s doing and pushes the sweaty bangs off Stiles forehead and runs his fingers through the boy’s scalp in an attempt to keep him in in a calm state of mind. Stiles rests his head on Derek’s chest and curls his now claw free hands towards himself, the leather jacket is held tightly in his grip.

***

It only takes a couple of minutes for Stiles to enter an even more sedated and hazy state of mind as the pill begins to take effect on his body. Derek has managed to get Stiles to eat half a protein bar before he refused to consume anymore and is more eager on going back to sleep. He’s less fidgety when Derek leaves his line of sight in search of some clean and dry underwear for Stiles to wear but Derek can still hear the soft whines that make Derek hurt.

Derek snatched a pair of plaid – surprise – boxers and makes his way to the end of the bed to put them on Stiles. Little by little, Derek makes his way up towards Stiles’ waist and looks away when he gets closer to Stiles’ sex, refusing to cause the boy any more discomfort should he actually remember this. Though Derek notices the way Stiles’ muscles go rigid and he begins to whimper as his boxers are now over his waist and proper.

The whines turn into sobs and Derek looks up to see Stiles look at him with fearful eyes, red veins spilling into the whites of his scleras.

“Stiles?”

“No hurt.” Stiles begins to plea, choking on his sobs. He was still being controlled by his animalistic instincts, his wolf, but at least he had the ability to create simple phrases, “No hurt. No hurt. No hurt.”

Derek looked down to Stiles waist to see if there were any noticeable marks on him his hands were still on the boxers and he began to inch them down before Stiles’ desperate please became a fraction louder.

“No. No hurt!” Stiles began to full on cry as he tries to weakly remove Derek’s hands.

No hurt?

What did Stiles mean by tha–

Oh god no.

Derek moves his hands away immediately and makes his way back to lie down next to Stiles, to enclose him in the scent that brought him comfort but even as Stiles shuffles closer to Derek, his sobs didn’t stop.

“No hurt,” Stiles says in a hushed tone over his sobs, “No hurt.”

Derek covers them both in the soft duvet before he wraps his arms around Stiles and presses his lips on the boy’s head.

“No, never, Stiles,” Derek insists “I’m not going to hurt you, I’m not going to let anyone hurt you,” he promises. He’s not sure if he’s making that promise to Stiles or to himself. The very idea that Stiles, in the state that he’s in, would believe that Derek would do something as terrible as hurt or even so much as rape him made him sick to his stomach, made him wonder who would’ve hurt Stiles to make him believe such things.

“Nogit’sne,” Stiles slurs as the sobs slowly calm down, only then did Derek realize that Stiles was answering the question Derek had unintentionally slipped out of his lips.

“What?”

“Nogit’sne hurt,” Stiles words slowly spill out of him as his eye lids begin to flutter close, “Nn, n’more hurr…” He didn’t finish the sentence before he was falling off into a deep sleep; his head nuzzled on Derek’s chest.

Derek was silent for what felt like an eternity in the dark room trying to process what Stiles had said, or rather what he tried to say before he dozed off. He didn’t want to believe it, heaven knew he didn’t, but he couldn’t ignore the way Stiles heart remained in rhythm as he tried to speak the words.

Derek thought back to all the times Stiles refused to be part of any celebratory hugs or bonds with the pack or how he seemed to sneer at anyone who tried to touch him. And Derek should’ve seen all the signs because he was just like that after Kate, he refused to touch or be touched by anybody he didn’t know or trust.

He should’ve seen all the fucking signs and he didn’t.

But this was different.

This wasn’t some hunter or darach who tried to lure Stiles in to a false sense of comfort before taking advantage of him. This was the Nogitsune who had possessed his body and had done god knows what to him to make sure Stiles was traumatized to the point where he thought anyone could potentially harm him, even his own pack.

 

This is the realization that makes Derek’s heart shatter into a million pieces.

 

This is the realization that makes Derek hold Stiles closer in fear that if he lets go, the boy will somehow crumble.

 

This is the realization that makes Derek swear to the boy in his arms that he will make sure to keep him safe from anything and anyone who tries to harm him ever again. That he will teach Stiles to trust his pack again and teach him how to be the strongest werewolf that will make hunters and werewolves alike fear his strength.

 

This is the realization that makes the hot burning tears slip out of Derek’s eyes and the silent sobs escape his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AND THAT CONCLUDES THIS STORY**  
>  I know...I know you want to murder me in my sleep. You're probably filled with so so many unanswered questions as well! Well for that I'm glad to announce that this is the intro story to a series in which will document Stiles' road to recovery. I'd like to make an apology for all and any grammar/punctual errors you may find. I don't have a beta so it's a tad challenging to find my own errors until days later when I go back and re-read this. Anyways, kudos and comments are always appreciated and I hope you found this to be a nice angsty read :) Feel free to follow me on [TUMBLR](http://http://yourlovelyalpha.tumblr.com/) where I draw ridiculous chibis and you can ask me anything to your heart's desire!


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